Godfather Death
by A. Serpico
Summary: On a trip to solve a mystery in Phoenix, a very ill Sam is haunted by a creature, in what could be his time of death. Can Dean save him this time? Brotherly love, no slash
1. Chapter 1

**Good evening dear colleagues, welcome to my first story on SUPERNATURAL fandom.**

 **The story bellow, takes place within the 2nd season and what give me inspiration to write it, was a fairytale by the same name and a random fanfiction i read a few days ago, so, the monster you going to read in this story, is made only for this fanfiction and doesn´t exist in the show**

 **Another thing about this story, is that it was writen in 2 parts, so, bellow this line, it´s just the first part; the secound one, will be come up soom**

 **Meanwhile, i hope you enjoy this story and if it´s too out of character, please, help me fix it, i hate when i wrote someone out of his or her true personality.**

 **Thank you very much for your time**

 **Yours**

 **Dr. Serpico**

* * *

 **GODFATHER DEATH - Part 1**

It was late night in Phoenix, Arizona and the Winchester brothers found themselves sitting in a motel room, doing nothing, except research on their current case. Well, actually, Sam was researching, while Dean was just playing candy crush in his cellphone. It happened, that in Phoenix, a lot of ill people, when they are seen by a certain doctor, they started to rave and ended up dying, even of the illness in question were just a simple cold.

''crap'' Sam growled, blowing his nose

''hey, are you okay?'' asked Dean, paying attention on his brother

'' just a cold coming, should not be anything'' he lied. It happened that just after they arrived in Arizona, Sam started to feel kind of unwell, His throat had ached a bit as well, along with his head and stomach, he was exhausted and he had been fighting the urge to cough ''Dean, did you heard about Godfather Death?'' he asked, changing the subject

''I think so, it is a fairytale, by those Brothers Grimm. Why?''

''I think it may be a connection Dean, look'' Sam answered, showing his brother their dad´s diary ''dad wrote a note about it, he said there´s a doctor who visit his patients accompanied by the grim reaper itself and if it stayed at the foot of the bed, means that the person in question must die''

''so you´re saying that a fairytale is the responsible for all those deaths?'' Dean asked in a mocking tone

''well all the people who died, were visited by the same doctor, perhaps it has a connection''

''you better go to sleep, Storyteller, you´re looking like death itself'' Dean ignored his comments, turn the lights off and goes to sleep

''sure, thank you very much Dean'' he said, back to his book, coughing a little

* * *

Sam awoke with a start and rolled over to the edge of the bed just in time to vomit. There was nothing really in his stomach but the bit of bile and water that was there came up easily and splattered on the floor. The action burned his throat and caused him to start coughing the same way he had the night before. It sounded worse now, though, and he felt as though the sleep had done him more harm than good. Groaning, he rolled back and weakly wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

He didn't recall falling asleep, but he saw light coming in through the dusty window and from what he could tell, the sun had been up for a few hours at least. If he listened carefully, he could hear the town going about its daily business outside. Children were laughing, dogs were barking and adults were shouting. It was clear proof that the world kept on going even if one person felt awful.

Sam looked over at his brother, knowing he was in need of some sort of help, he had never felt this ill before and it was making him nervous. Another cough crept up on him and tears of pain came to his eyes. When he got his breathing under control again, he glanced hopefully at his brother. He was disappointed. Dean was still sound asleep, the coughing not bothering him at all. He was alone in the bed, his arms wrapped around a pillow and his head resting on the mattress.

The young man weighed his options. He could lie here, feeling awful and pray that someone came to check on them and noticed he was ill. Or, he could struggle out of bed and wake up Dean. Neither one of them seemed like pleasant options. On the one hand, he could wait hours and hours before someone checked in or Dean came to. On the other hand, walking the mere six feet to Dean's bed seemed like an undoable task.

''Dean…'' he called, but his voice was weak and it even make the other man stirred

''Sammy?'' he look to his side with his yes widened in surprise and horror ''are you feeling alright?'' his deceased father was kneeling beside his bed, smiling and stroking his hear

''D-Dad?'' he choked

''I think you are sick, son'' John Winchester smiled I'll go get your mother and she can send Dean for the doctor. I´m sure your mother can take care of you much better them me."

''n-no, dad, p-please, don´t leave'' Sam pleaded, trying to catch his hand but failing

''I have to call your mother Samuel, but don´t worry, I will wake you brother and make sure he will keep an eye on you''

''no, Dad, please, stay with me, don´t leave, please'' he cried out but was stopped by another coughing spell. He couldn't seem to get them to stop. His lungs were seizing, expelling the bit of air he had acquired. His vision was darkening again and a roaring filled his ears. He was going to die now, with his father gone, his brother asleep and his mother not present. He had never thought he would die alone.

He barely heard the cursing coming from the other bed and the yelp that accompanied it. He was fully absorbed in his world which consisted of his failing body and his darkening mind. In fact, he didn't realize that someone was beside him until hands grasped his shoulders and a frightened voice called for him.

"Sam? Sammy! What's wrong?" the voice said, and one of the hands moved to his face. "Sam, can you hear me?"

He could hear the person but he couldn't say so. He was so tired, so worn out and so ready to rest. A long peaceful sleep was very appealing.

"I'm going to get your mother now" John said in his ear. "Dean is going to watch you until I come back with Mama."

"Dad," he whispered in reply. "D-don't..."

"I love you, son," she murmured. "Don't be scared. Your brother is going to be here while I'm gone."

But he was scared, he was terrified even. And in a brief moment of lucidity, he realized that his mother and father were dead and that there was no way that either of them were coming.

"Sam?" the voice asked again. "Brother? You have a fever. Why didn't you say something?"

Sam knew that it was Dean who was talking to him and he was confused. His brother sounded almost frantic with worry.

"'m sorry," Dean mumbled. "Didn't w-want to w-wake you... D-Dad s-said h-he should though."

The response didn't calm the older Winchester at all. He seemed to grow more agitated and pressed Sam back against the flat pillow, dragging the blankets over him. "Dad? Sammy, Dad's..." He trailed off for a moment and chewed on his lip. "I'm going to fetch a doctor. You need a doctor."

"No!" Sam cried as loud as he could, which was really just a rasping whisper. "D-don't leave me... I j-just wait until Dad comes back with M-mom. Please?"

"Samuel" Dean said slowly, his voice shaking. "They aren't coming. They're dead, remember?"

He did remember but for some reason, he couldn't make sense of it. His feverish mind kept insisting that his father had just been there, saying that she was going to fetch their mother.

"B-but h-he was there. h-he woke you up," he whispered. h-he said you w-would stay..."

Dean shook his head, his hand on his brother's cheek. "He wasn't here, Sam. He's dead. I woke up because of your coughing." He pursed his lips. "Sammy, I'm going to leave for a little bit. It'll only take me a minute, I promise."

"N-no!" he begged, grasping the front of Dean's shirt with one shaking hand. "Pl-please st-stay...I..."

His lungs protested horrendously and the painful coughing began again. The hand wrapped about his brother's shirt released almost immediately, moving to his chest instead as though it could stop the coughing. Dean, meanwhile, forced him to sit up, and rubbed his back, looking completely helpless. Even Sam's fuzzy, fever twisted mind could see that Dean wanted to bring back a doctor but didn't want to leave his little brother hacking and frightened.

At some point, he blacked out. It wasn't for a long time but it was long enough for Dean to rush out of the room and leave him alone again. A familiar fear grasped him once more, and he struggled to follow his brother. His limbs did not agree with this pursuit and instead of helping him move, they lay limply on the bed. He was left to wait, praying that his brother would return or that his mother or father would appear. He couldn't stand being alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**GODFATHER DEATH – Part 2**

The shadows in the room seemed to move on their own accord, coming towards him. He had always feared the monsters under the bed and the creatures that hid in the corners at night. Even as an adult, even after everything he saw and everything he has hounded, Sam had to admit he did not enjoy being alone when it was dark. There was something about it that made him nervous and the only thing that would calm him was the company of others.

That, of course, was when he felt normal, not when he felt unwell. His natural phobia combined with the delusions of an overheated mind had him sure that the shadows were taking shape at the foot of his bed.

A figure was standing there, formed out of the shadows. The hands that formed were those of a skeleton's and those hands clutched a vapory scythe with a blade that both gleamed in the light and seemed dull. The creature was dressed in a dark black cloak that rippled about it as though there was wind in the room. Folds of shimmering black material covered the thing's face but Sammy was sure that he could see glowing pale eyes peering at him.

Sam´s heart leapt into his throat and his breathing grew all the more aggravated. He didn't have the energy or the breath to scream. All he could do was stare in horror at the thing that was hovering over him, weapon in hand as though ready to strike. Where was his family? He needed them to prove to him that this was just a hallucination that his mind playing tricks on him. They had to save him or it would kill him. He expected it to attack at any second but it stood passively, hands on its scythe, watching him. ' _'What could it possibly be waiting for?''_ he cried silently. _'Is this one last bit of torture before I die? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?_ ' It was a rhetorical question to him. This creature was obviously here to avenge the innocent deaths he and his brother had caused. This knowledge didn't erase any of his fear but it made him wish that the inevitable would simply occur.

"Oh, thank God you were passing! He fell ill so suddenly," a voice panted as someone came into the room. "I- I don't know what's wrong!"

"I'm sure it only looks bad. Nothing to worry about."

Sam decided shift his attention to the doorway where his brother was standing with some doctor he did not recognize. Why his brother didn´t called 911 in plenty XXI century? It didn't matter. He only wanted Dean anyway. Whoever this new person was, that person was superfluous. He needed his brother to make the demon at the foot of his bed disappear and leave him to rest.

"D´n," he stuttered, shivering fiercely. It was so cold. "D-Dean... m-make it go away."

The older Winchester rushed to his side, sitting down on the bed. He grasped one of Sam's limp hands, giving him a shaky smile. "Easy, easy, Sammy... It's alright. See, I'm back just like I said.'' he didn't seem to take much notice of the thing at the foot of the bed but Sam could not tear his eyes off of it. "M-make it go away," he repeated with a moan. "M-make it leave."

"Make what go away, Sam?" Dean asked, his eyes passing right over the hovering monster. He searched the room, trying to seek out the offensive object but eventually he gave up.

"Th-the..." He didn't know what to call it and let out a hoarse whimper as it leaned closer to him. "Pl-please... t-tell it t-too go..." Whatever that creature is, it is deftly much worse than anything he had faced before.

Dean turned from him to look at the doctor once more. "He's delirious," he said, aghast. "He's seeing things..."

During all this time, the doctor was hanging back in the doorway, his hand on the frame, while staring at the end of the bed, a frown on his face. In his hand, he held a medical bag filled with supplies. His clothing was average, peasant clothing. Overall, he did not seem special at all except for his eyes; beneath his spectacles, the doctor had pale eyes that seemed to glow. And when Samuel saw that, he let out a soft cry and tried to hide.

The physician didn't seem fazed. Approaching slowly, he kept his eyes focused on the end of the bed. "Perhaps not as delirious as you think." He walked around the bed, onto the young man's other side. Placing the bag down on the bedside table, he grasped Sam's face in his hands, ignoring the struggling and whimpers. "Look at me," he commanded softly.

But the young hunter didn't want to look at him. He didn't want to see those eyes that looked so stunningly similar to the eyes of the thing at the foot of his bed. They sent terror through him and deepened the cold in his limbs. Even the hands on his face made the chill grow and sink into his very bones. He would rather look at his brother, who radiated warmth. And yet, despite what he wanted, he found himself staring into the hard, pale eyes.

"He's dying," the man said finally, his hands still holding Sam's face in place. "He's beyond my help."

It wasn't the answer Dean had been looking for. From the look on his face, it wasn't the answer he had been expecting either. He sat silently, stunned by this announcement. He stared at the man, as though not understanding what he had said. "W-what? No, no...There has to be something..." Dean cried, but Sam barely heard it, barely comprehended the next lines of "He just fell ill..." and "He's my brother...h-he's all I have left."

The doctor whoever, just sighed. Not in a sad, sorry way but instead, as though he was used to such reactions. He was still staring into Dam´s eyes and stilling his squirming. "He's too far gone. There's nothing I can do for him. I'm..." He paused and sighed. "I'm sorry..."

Desperate and not knowing what to do, Dean stood up from where he was, walked to the doctor and held him by the collar of his white coat ''you cure my brother you son of a bitch, or hell knows what I'm going to do with you'' barked the older man.

The doctor didn't know what to say, part of him knew that he couldn't do anything and the best act will be letting the younger hunter die; but the anger and determination in Dean´s voice, took him aback. So, afraid of what Dean could do to him, he decided to take his chance.

''very well'' he said, picking something from inside his purse '' I will do it, I will cure your brother. But I'm curious, why didn't you took him to the hospital in the first place?'' his asked, but in response, he got only silence from the other man.

Once given the medications, the doctor turned to go away and for the first time, Dean saw the terrified look on his face

''I will be back in a few hours'' he said, walking out the door, leaving Dean again alone with his ill brother, hoping that a miracle could cure him.

* * *

Sam stared at the blurry ceiling, pondering where he was. He had just woke up a few minutes later, with no idea what had really happened, he couldn't even recall what he had been doing before he had gone to bed.

Shifting his overly heavy body, he stopped staring at the roof and looked to the side. Next to him, Dean was slumped over in a chair, sleeping. His head was to the side, resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His mouth was open slightly and he was snoring very softly. A cloth that had been damp at one point rested on his leg, soaking his pants on one side. He seemed rather pale, Sam noted, and the dark shadows under his eyes indicated that he hadn't slept well in a while.

Tilting his aching leaden head, he studied the bedside table in search of them. With skewed vision, he took in the large bowl perched there along with a tub of some sort of paste and a cup of water. Towards the one side, he could see a mug of something and a few jars of unidentifiable substances.

Slightly frustrated, he let out a sigh and decided to search out for his dad´s diary. Maybe a little reading time, could help him recover his lost memory.

The diary in question, was not on the bedside table and a painfully slow look around the bed proved that he hadn't fallen asleep reading it. The inability to see any distance kept him from checking if it was on the floor and his inability to move kept him from sitting up and looking on the table in the corner. However, the realization that he had no idea where he had put the book sent a sense of fear through him. He always knew where that book was, no matter what. It was where he kept all his searches. Looking back at the bedside table and finding it empty still, he looked at Dean, wondering if he should wake his clearly exhausted brother up to ask where it was.

And that was when he noticed the book resting over his brother's knee. It was on the leg without the towel, much to his relief. To his agitation, though, it was open and resting straight down. That was one of the worst things a person could do to a book and Dean knew it. Sam reminded him constantly. He cringed simply looking at it and found himself feeling sick.

Actually, he had felt sick before this, he just hadn't noticed. It was as though he was getting over being ill and he was worn out. He didn't remember being sick, though, and as he reached to grab the book from Dean's knee, he wondered if he was coming down with something. It would explain why he was tired, aching, and had a strange tickle in his lungs.

His hand slipped and hit Dean's leg instead. The diary tumbled from where it was balanced and hit the floor with a slap. Dean jerked away with a yelp and Sam watched with horror as his brother's foot came down on the helpless book. There was the sound of tearing pages filled the man's ears and a loud thump followed as his brother crashed to the floor.

"B-book," he choked out, his voice nearly non-existent. He couldn't see the book but the sounds had engraved the picture of ripped pages.

From the ground, he heard a groan from his brother. "My head..."

"D-Dean," Samuel mumbled around the tightness in his throat. "My-"

Dean's exclamation cut him off. "Sammy!" In a flash, Dean was on his feet and sitting on the edge of his brother's bed. He wrapped his hands around one of Sam's. "I thought you were going to make that damn deal of mine be in vain. How do you feel?"

Samuel Winchester had found, from experience, that when he was very sick or badly injured, he had a tendency to become single minded. His energy was always limited and instinctively, he focused it on completing one task at a time. Currently, the one thing on his mind was the book which had been crushed. He really didn't care how he felt or how long he had slept. He didn't really want to find out why Dean looked so relieved or even why he had been sleeping in a chair. He wanted to make sure that book was alright.

"B-book," he gasped, his dry and sore throat refusing to produce any more words.

The older brother looked confused for a brief moment and then looked down at the floor. "Ah! Sorry, I was," he reached down and scooped it up. To Sam's relief, the pages looked ruffled but not beyond repair. "I was reading it... Last night..." He trailed off and ran his hand over the cover, tracing the lettering on the front cover, then, he carefully cleared some room on the bedside table and put the book down. "But never mind that, how do you feel? I've been worried about you."

''c-can I have some w-water?" he rasped, his throat aching.

"Of course," Dean replied, snatching up the glass on the bedside table. With an extreme amount of care, he lifted his brother's head and held the glass to his lips. The amount of worry and gentleness that Dean was exhibiting didn't escape the foggy Sammy. It was very off, he knew, for Dean to do this. Even when he was sick, Dean rarely showed this much concern. It simply wasn't in his nature.

The water, though a bit tepid, soothed his throat and cleared his head. Vague memories of burning and breathlessness came within his grasp and he frowned a bit. The recollections weren't at all clear and they confused him more than they helped him remember. Something had happened to make his brother so helpful and him so weak. But what was it?

"Th-thank you," he murmured, as the older Winchester helped him lay back once more and set the glass in its place. "d-did you found something in the book? About that Godfather Death thing? I think it is the reaper" his voice cracked and he felt himself flush

''no, I didn´t, actually, I was worried enough with my little brother, that I didn't had time to running after some fairytale creature. Let's do it, when you get better'' Dean smiled

"Wh-where are we?" Sam asked, changing the subject

Dean's brow furrowed and he placed his hand on Sam's forehead. Mumbling something under his breath, he looked on the table for something and in the bowl of water. He didn't find what he was looking for and bent over, searching the floor. A moment or so later, he sat up with the cloth in his hand and wetted it in the bowl. Squeezing the excess water out, he folded it and placed it on his brother's head, hoping that the cloth would fix the question

Sure, Sammy had to admit that it felt nice but it wasn't bringing his memory back. "You've been very sick, bro," he said finally, running a hand through his hair. He still hadn't answered the question. "You had me...I was..." He stopped and looked at the ceiling. "I'm glad you are awake and your fever is down."

It wasn't the words that caused the ill man to concentrate on remembering instead of finding an answer to his question. It was the tone that his brother used and his stuttering. It was also the lone tear trickling down Dean's face as he focused resolutely on the roof above them. Something bad had happened. Dean never behaved this way; He never showed such concern, he never used that tone; He never mother-hennaed like this either. Concentrating hard and wincing at the headache he had, Sam attempted to recall what had occurred as of late.

Ah! Yes, they were in Phoenix right now, investigating some mysterious deaths that had occurred at the local hospital, all linked to a certain doctor, they had not had the pleasure of meeting.

And then he remembered the monster at the end of the bed; in his feverish stupor, he had seen the monster standing there, watching him with its glowing eyes and its hooded countenance. It was so vivid a memory amongst those that were limited to feelings and faint images. Again he shook and this time, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on something else. However, what he recalled next was even more frightening. It was the glowing eyes of the young man which had dragged him under coupled with the feeling of suffocation.

"There was somebody here," he whispered, following the words up with a cough. It was painful but not half as bad as he recalled.

''come again?'' looked down at him.

"A person, a man... he was here," Sam repeated, hoping his brother could explain it. The eyes were his only clear memory of this man and those eyes still filled him with terror.

"Ah," he said, comprehension lighting up his face. "The doctor- he was here. But you were unconscious when he came."

Samuel opened his eyes. "No," he said. "No, I w-was awake... I s-saw him. He and the th-thing at the end of the bed."

Dean shook his head and moved so he was sitting back in the chair. "Sam, I told you, you were very ill. You...had some very vivid hallucinations. Whatever was at the end of your bed," he paused for a moment. "It wasn't really there, at least, not this time."

"But the doctor was, I mean, you brought a doctor, instead of calling 911" Sammy persisted, turning his head so he could see Dean.

For him, if the doctor had been here, then the thing had to have been as well. They were interrelated in his mind. One could not exist without the other. They both possessed those disturbing orbs and the strange ability to chill a person's heart. It was as though one was death and the other was death's messenger.

"Yes, he was but you were unconscious by the time he came, Sammy," he carted his fingers through his hair again. It was a bad habit. "You haven't been awake any of the times he has come."

It didn't make sense. The only clear memory he had was of the doctor and the doctor's demon. How could it be possible that he could only recall the things that he hallucinated? In response, Sam felt the cloth leave his head and be replaced seconds later. It did feel nice but didn't alleviate the headache. He had overdone it, and he was paying the price. Far too much thinking after just waking up after an apparently serious illness; or at least, that was the story he had been told.

He lay there for ages, trying to force himself back into sleep but finding it impossible. He was tired again, over stimulated from all the thinking and recollections. He had no wish to open his eyes and ask Dean more questions. That would only lead to more misery and more confusion both of which he had had his fill of for the day. He was dozing when the door opened and there were footsteps echoing on the floor. The doctor had comeback as he promised.

"How is he?" a frighteningly familiar voice asked.

"He woke up," Dean whispered, his voice content. "He recognized me and only seemed a bit confused. He... doesn't remember much..."

"His fever was very high, Mister…? I´m sorry, I think I didn't get your name'' the doctor looked at Dean

''Oh! Sorry. Name is O´Toole'' Dean Make up a name

''Mr. O´Toole, As I already told you, it's possible that he might..."

What he might or might not have or do Samuel Winchester wasn't sure. The voice frightened him but with morbid curiosity, he forced his eyes to open and squinted at the person. It was the same doctor that he remembered, with the dark hair and the sallow face. He wore the tiny glasses and had the bag in his hand. His pale lips had a slight frown upon them and his eyes were focused elsewhere. But Sam could see them, just enough to take in their color.

They were not the same. There was a slightly bloodshot appearance to them, as though he had not slept in a while. _'There must be an epidemic of insomnia going around_ ,' he thought. Tiny eyelashes decorated the eyelids and thin eyebrows settled on top of the eyes in a furrowed line. The eyes were small, and a dull shade of grey. They did not glow or strike fear into his heart. No, they looked like average, ordinary eyes.

 _'I must be going mad_ ,' he thought, watching as the doctor set his bag at the end of the bed. ' _He is just a normal man.'_

It was then something moved behind the doctor, something sinister. Once again, Sam felt the frozen feeling creep into his limbs and the breath quicken in his chest. He tried to close his eyes all the way to block it out but he was paralyzed. Standing behind the doctor was the creature, hovering. Its boney hands no longer held the weapon but were instead entwined in the doctor's hair and wrapped around his neck. It watched Sam intently, causing the young man to shudder and let out a small whimper.

"It's alright, Sammy," Dean comforted, patting his shoulder. "Don't be scared.

The words allowed him to turn his gaze and look at his brother. Immediately the chill lifted and warmth seeped into his skin. The shuddering stopped and the fear fled. Dean was there, watching over him, smiling at him, making him safe no matter what and that make Sam more than happy

"I'm n-not scared," he whispered, his mind finding some sort of peace. "O-of anything, no demons, no spirits...n-not even... G-godfather Death." He said and drifted off into a healing sleep.

 **RHE END**

* * *

 **Hello everyone, Here´s the end of the story.**

 **I know it seems kind of OOC, but since i decided to foccous more on the fairytale then the show itself, i let the monster been only inside Sam´s feverish mind.**

 **Anyway, i hope you had enjoyed the story.**

 **Thank you very much for reading and see you in my next project.**


	3. Chapter 3

**And just for the record, i would like to show you, the real fairytale in wich this story is based on.**

* * *

 **Godfather Death, by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm**

A poor man had twelve children and had to work day and night in order just to feed them. Thus when the thirteenth came into the world, not knowing what to do in his need, he ran out into the highway, intending to ask the first person whom he met to be the godfather.

The first person who came his way was our dear God, who already knew what was in his heart, and God said to him, "Poor man, I pity you. I will hold your child at his baptism, and care for him, and make him happy on earth."

The man said, "Who are you?"

"I am God."

"Then I do not wish to have you for a godfather," said the man. "You give to the rich, and let the poor starve."

Thus spoke the man, for he did not know how wisely God divides out wealth and poverty. Then he turned away from the Lord, and went on his way.

Then the devil came to him and said, "What are you looking for? If you will take me as your child's godfather, I will give him an abundance of gold and all the joys of the world as well."

The man asked, "Who are you?"

"I am the devil."

"Then I do not wish to have you for a godfather," said the man. You deceive mankind and lead them astray."

He went on his way, and then Death, on his withered legs, came walking toward him, and said, "Take me as your child's godfather."

The man asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Death, who makes everyone equal."

Then the man said, "You are the right one. You take away the rich as well as the poor, without distinction. You shall be my child's godfather.

Death answered, "I will make your child rich and famous, for he who has me for a friend cannot fail."

The man said, "Next Sunday is the baptism. Be there on time."

Death appeared as he had promised, and served as godfather in an orderly manner.

After the boy came of age his godfather appeared to him one day and asked him to go with him. He took him out into the woods and showed him an herb that grew there, saying, "Now you shall receive your godfather's present. I will turn you into a famous physician. Whenever you are called to a sick person I will appear to you. If I stand at the sick person's head, you may say with confidence that you can make him well again; then give him some of this herb, and he will recover. But if I stand at the sick person's feet, he is mine, and you must say that he is beyond help, and that no physician in the world could save him. But beware of using this herb against my will, or something very bad will happen to you."

It was not long before the young man had become the most famous physician in the whole world. People said of him, "He only needs to look at the sick in order to immediately know their condition, whether they will regain their health, or are doomed to die." And people came to him from far and wide, taking him to their sick, and giving him so much money that he soon became a wealthy man.

Now it came to pass that the king became ill. The physician was summoned and was told to say if a recovery were possible. However, when he approached the bed, Death was standing at the sick man's feet, and so no herb on earth would be able to help him.

"If I could only deceive death for once," thought the physician. "He will be angry, of course, but because I am his godson he will shut one eye. I will risk it." He therefore took hold of the sick man and laid him the other way around, so that Death was now standing at his head. Then he gave the king some of the herb, and he recovered and became healthy again.

However, Death came to the physician, made a dark and angry face, threatened him with his finger, and said, "You have betrayed me. I will overlook it this time because you are my godson, but if you dare to do it again, it will cost you your neck, for I will take you yourself away with me."

Soon afterward the king's daughter became seriously ill. She was his only child, and he cried day and night until his eyes were going blind. Then he proclaimed that whosoever rescued her from death should become her husband and inherit the crown.

When the physician came to the sick girl's bed he saw Death at her feet. He should have remembered his godfather's warning, but he was so infatuated by the princess's great beauty and the prospect of becoming her husband that he threw all thought to the winds. He did not see that Death was looking at him angrily, lifting his hand into the air, and threatening him with his withered fist. He lifted up the sick girl and placed her head where her feet had been. Then he gave her some of the herb, and her cheeks immediately turned red, and life stirred in her once again.

Death, seeing that he had been cheated out of his property for a second time, approached the physician with long strides and said, "You are finished. Now it is your turn."

Then Death seized him so firmly with his ice-cold hand that he could not resist, and led him into an underground cavern. There the physician saw how thousands and thousands of candles were burning in endless rows, some large, others medium-sized, others small. Every instant some died out, and others were relit, so that the little flames seemed to be jumping about in constant change.

"See," said Death, "these are the life-lights of mankind. The large ones belong to children, the medium-sized ones to married people in their best years, and the little ones to old people. However, even children and young people often have only a tiny candle."

"Show me my life-light," said the physician, thinking that it still would be very large.

Death pointed to a little stump that was just threatening to go out, and said, "See, there it is."

"Oh, dear godfather," said the horrified physician, "light a new one for me. Do it as a favor to me, so that I can enjoy my life, and become king and the husband of the beautiful princess."

"I cannot," answered Death. "One must go out before a new one is lighted."

"Then set the old one onto a new one that will go on burning after the old one is finished," begged the physician.

Death pretended that he was going to fulfill this wish and took hold of a large new candle, but, desiring revenge, he purposely made a mistake in relighting it, and the little piece fell down and went out. The physician immediately fell to the ground, and he too was now in the hands of Death.


End file.
